


Down On Me

by snasational



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Crosstale Sans (Undertale), Dreamtale Nightmare Sans - Freeform, Drug Abuse, Dusttale Sans (Undertale), Eventual Bad Sans Poly, Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Killer Sans (Undertale) - Freeform, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29057688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snasational/pseuds/snasational
Summary: Cross is always going through changes.  Each one is worse than the last. That’s okay, though. Beforehand he didn’t have an outlet, and now all it takes is one injection and he can go back to the past and forget all of the bad things that ever happened to him.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 77





	Down On Me

**Author's Note:**

> It's happening!!! To the patient folks on twitter, sorry for teasing this for like a week. Please make sure to read the tags, this fic deals with uncomfortable subjects. A lot of this is written from my personal experience with drugs, but all drugs mentioned in this fic are fictional and created by me. If you feel like I'm portraying addiction inaccurately, don't be afraid to tell me! My experience isn't universal, after all. 
> 
> Special thanks to Askellie, who always encourages my terrible, evil ideas.

It starts in Underlust.

Cross hated it there. Everyone knew this. It smelled like musk and sex, the people are sleezy, and the Temmie there was obsessed with trying to get in his pants. Being hit on by a monster three times smaller than him is awkward. And uncomfortable. And he hated it! Nothing about this world is redeemable, and because of that it’s a hotspot for negativity and potential corruption. 

And yet, despite this, Nightmare insisted on dragging him there. Every single time, without fail. Cross had begun to believe that the only reason why he was forced to be included in these runs was because of how much he absolutely hated them. Nightmare loves being an asshole like that. He loves making Cross’ life so much more shittier than it has to be. 

Maybe that’s a little too dramatic. Regardless, the last place Cross wanted to be was in the center of that shit hole. Instead of bars and restaurants, there were clubs. And of course, all of Nightmare’s business was to be conducted in those clubs. Cross, being the anti-social person that he is, had no interest in sticking around. 

So while Nightmare was busy stalking his next victim, Cross made the decision to slip away for a little while. Away from the thrum of the music and the smell of horny monsters and into the cold air of Snowdin. He hardly remembers his Snowdin. After all, he was still a kid when the barrier was broken. There was still a sense of familiarity, though. 

He never really got the time to explore other worlds normally. He found that the more he walked through the town, the more he remembered. 

And Cross  _ hated  _ remembering. 

Remembering meant thinking about his dad, and his brother and sister. It also meant mourning over a world that he could never bring back. He wanted to pretend that they never existed in the first place, that they were just figments of his imagination. It was cowardly, but at least it made him feel better. 

The person he used to be would have been so ashamed of how Cross turned out. In his head, he still refers to the person as Sans. Sans is a hard-worker. He’s determined. He wants to save his best friend, he wants to be a hero. He wants so many noble, good things. Sans was a good person. Sans represented his happiness. 

But Cross is not Sans. Sans was the product of his father’s cruel game, and under his influence Sans never truly had a personality of his own. Cross misses that. He’d have preferred to be blissfully ignorant his entire life, if he could have. 

With awareness came other strange memories. 

A Sans that never lived underground. Frisk is small, when they first meet. And as he grows older, the more Sans viewed him as his own family. But...something happened. A wound, a candlelit next to his bed, and a sobbing child. 

Another time, there was just him and Papyrus. Making money had been difficult, but every day was spent happily. There was a change, though. A golden locket. Papyrus found it and had fixed it. Every day for months he went to talk with the owner, until one day he didn’t come back. 

That memory ends before Sans ever went looking for him. It’s strange, knowing that these memories all came from the same world. From the same person, even if that person is him. His father attempted to play the role of a God, and because of that there is nothing left. 

Is it wrong that even after all of that, Cross can’t hate him? 

He taught him how to tie his shoes. He took him fun places, and told him and Papyrus the coolest stories before bed. He reprimanded Alphys when she was too mean, and he held him in his arms when he cried. He may have been emotionally constipated, but he was still his dad. And he loved him so much.

Cross is still in shock from when Gaster’s true colors were shown. He wishes things would’ve turned out differently. Cross would’ve pretended not to know for the rest of eternity, if it meant that his family would still be there. 

“Wow, Sans. I’ve never seen so much clothes on you before.” 

Cross blinked out of his trance. A bunny stood in front of him. Gloria, he remembered. She used to be the shopkeeper in Snowdin, and when he turned ten she gave him two whole boxes full of chocolate glazed cinnabuns. She was a nice lady, but when the barrier broke her and her clan decided to travel the world. 

This version of her was dressed in nothing but a black bikini tip and a pair of ripped leather pants. It brought a blush to his face and he respectfully averted his gaze from her voluptuous form. 

“Sorry dude, wrong person.” Technically the truth. He’s not the Sans she was looking for. 

“No?” She raises her eyebrow. “You look an awful lot like him, sweetheart. Ain’t no mistaking that handsome face of his. Or that silky smooth voice.” She ended her sentence with a sultry smirk. It sent fire down his spine. Being hit on by attractive people was worlds different than being hit on by a Temmie. 

“Flattering. I’m Cross.”

“Well, Cross, I’m Gloria. Say, you don’t look too busy. I’m on my lunch break, how about I introduce you to a good time?” 

If he had known what this would lead to, he would have said no. But Cross has never possessed a good intuition. Not as Sans, and certainly not as a member to some outcast villain group. So he smiled shyly at her and nodded his head. 

“Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.” 

They ended up in her bedroom, which was located right above her shop. But, instead of what he had expected to happen, she sat him down on a couch and pulled out a box. Inside that box were many things he had never seen before. But it didn’t take a genius to realize the contents were of the drug variety. 

He blinked slowly. “Are we…?” 

“Going to fuck?” Gloria hummed. She pulled out a baggie full of what seemed to be weeds, and then she produced a small circular contraption. He eyed it curiously. “One hundred percent. I just like to loosen the mood with a smoke. Don’t you?” 

“I’m a virgin.” 

She freezed at his words and gave him a bewildered look. “What? How old are you? There’s no way someone as cute as you would be a virgin.” 

“Twenty nine.” Cross shrugged. Internally, he was screaming at himself. A hot girl takes you to her room and you tell her that you're a virgin. Nice going! This was a bad idea. He should leave before he embarrasses himself even more than he already did. 

But before he could, she placed her hand on top of his knee. “That is like.  _ So  _ hot. I’ve never taken someone’s virginity before.” 

“O-Oh?” He stuttered. “First for everything, I guess.” 

She nodded with excitement. “Definitely. But you’ve smoked before, right?”

  
“No.” Damn it, should’ve lied. 

“Man, you’re like Sans’ more innocent, less experienced twin brother huh?” Well. That’s one way to put it, he supposes. Cross has never met Underlust Sans before, but he’s seen this Papyrus give someone head in a barely concealed alleyway. That was...traumatic. Seeing Papyrus as a being capable of having sex was difficult, but having actual visuals of it made Cross want to curl up in a hole and die. 

“I don’t know who Sans is.” Another technical truth. “Uh, I’ve...yeah. Never done drugs. I didn’t even know the underground had drugs in the first place.” 

She twisted the contraption open. Inside were tiny metal spikes that had dull edges. Cross feels like he might have seen something similar in an episode of ‘Cops’. She dug out one of the weeds and put it on top of the spikes before closing the lid back around it. He watched with fascination. As a royal guardsmen, it had been his duty to report these kinds of things to the monarch. Now he was actively participating in it…

It made him feel unhinged. Even less like Sans. And Cross found that he liked that. 

“Have you been living under a rock?” She laughed. “Bless your soul. I suppose I’ll be the one to take your drug virginity too. Lucky me! I really hit the jackpot with you, my sister is going to be so jealous.” 

He curled the fabric of his shorts into his hands. He was...more than nervous. About the sex. About the drugs. About Nightmare finding out and burning him alive. The dude was a control freak, every single thing needed to be reported to him or else he’d lose his marbles. From the very beginning, Nightmare made it clear that Cross wasn’t allowed to make decisions without them being approved first. 

“Just sheltered, I guess.” He responded. 

“No doubt about that.” Gloria snorted. Once the plant is ground up enough, she dumped it onto a tray and pulled out a thick looking paper. “I’m out of wraps so this is the best I can do for now.”

“What even is it?” He asked as he witnessed her put the ground up plant onto one of the pieces of paper. After she rolled it, she handed it to him. He took it and examined the crudely made blunt with a slight frown. To be honest, it didn’t look too alluring.

“It’s called grass. Comes from an echo flower. Cheap stuff, but it gets the job done. What would really be awesome is crystal, but I'm afraid only rich folk can afford that. Here, let me light it for you.” 

He holds the wrap out to her and she takes a pink lighter out of the box. It’s got Hello Kitty on it, he noted with amusement. That used to be Alphys’ favorite character, before she moved on to anime. The only time she ever used to show emotion was when she was watching those shows, and it made Sans so happy to see his sister find something that she enjoyed. 

What callous words would she have for him if he knew what he was doing, he wonders. 

“Thanks.” He said politely once it’s been lit. Gloria shrugged before lighting her own blunt. He mimics her movements, placing one end of the wrap in his mouth. Does it work like a cigarette? Cross has never smoked those before, either. Every bit of this is completely new territory. 

He inhaled lightly, and with hesitance. A small puff of smoke crawled down his throat; to his surprise it wasn’t uncomfortable. He had expected it to burn, and he was prepared to fight down a coughing fit. The next time, he took a much deeper inhale. Like the last time, more smoke poured into his mouth.

It was a pleasant feeling. 

“After it kicks in we can have some fun. Fucking while high off this stuff is an  _ experience _ , lemme tell you.” She snickered. 

And, as it turns out, it really  _ was  _ an experience. He doesn’t stumble back into Grillby’s Club until hours later, when the drugs have worn off and his dick has been wrung dry. To explain his first ever high would be difficult, because not even Cross knew how to properly put it to words. His entire mind seemed...peaceful. Quiet in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a child. 

Nightmare didn’t notice his disappearance. Neither did anyone else, for that matter. Horror and Dust were busy playing strip poker, both losing miserably, and Horror scarfing down another bowl of strawberries. Cross slid into Horror’s booth, causing the big guy to look up from his snack. 

“Hello.”

“Hey dude.” He mumbled. His voice was hoarse from the smoke. Gloria called it ‘cottonmouth’. Horror stared at him for a long moment, his always blank expression impossible to read. He seemed to have made up his mind, because he pushed the bowl of strawberries to Cross’ side of the table. 

“Eat.” He commanded. “Look...hungry.” 

Cross didn’t realize it, but he really was hungry. Horror is good at detecting stuff like that. If it weren’t for him, Cross would probably never eat. 

“You know, you’re totally right. I’m fucking starving.” He popped a strawberry in his mouth. “Think they got any of that fancy chocolate sauce? I bet Nightmare could afford it.”

Cross missed the way Horror’s expression softened with fondness. “Mm. Probably.”

-

The second time it happens, they’re in Storyshift.

This is one of the weirder timelines. And another one that he doesn’t particularly like. Solely because seeing Chara walk around with a lazy smile and a nonchalant attitude is off putting. Seeing them act like that is...well. He hates how sad it made him feel. Chara was evil. Chara manipulated him and made him do horrible things for the sake of their family. But the truth was undeniable, just like it was with Gaster.

He missed him sorely. 

“Why are we even here?” Cross complained. “This place is  _ way  _ too positive. Can’t we just leave?”

Nightmare barely gave Cross a glance. “Shush. There was a gathering of negative energy around here.”

“Just because you’re a big baby about your Chara doesn’t mean you can complain all the time.” Killer jabbed. “If I can handle it, so can you.”

Killer is the most punchable person Cross has ever met, and he had to share a training unit with  _ Jerry.  _ Nobody liked Jerry. Cross thinks that if Killer had been there, nobody would’ve liked him either. Jerry probably would’ve avoided him too, actually. And then Killer would have no friends and Cross could die smug and happy about it. 

“Fuck you.” Cross hissed. “I’m so terribly sorry for being uncomfortable about something that makes me uncomfortable.” 

“That didn’t even make sense.”

“You don’t even make sense.”

“Okay, see, now-”

“Will you guys shut the fuck up?” Dust snarled. “So annoying, like a bunch of goddamn babybones.”

“Killer started it.” Cross pointed out, feeling vaguely offended. “Maybe if he learned to keep his mouth shut we wouldn’t resort to acting like babybones.” 

“Yeah?” Killer scoffed. “Maybe if you weren’t a little bitch about your past we wouldn’t have to listen to your complaining twenty four fucking seven.” 

“At least I have the soul to mourn my actions. What do you have, Killer? You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”   
  


“Going...far.” Horror tells Nightmare. The skeleton merely shrugged and continued to search for the source of the negativity. 

“They’ll sort it out themselves.” 

Dust groaned. Nobody was going to stop this argument, it seemed. 

“You ain’t no better than me. You killed them too. Their dust is on your hands, like it’s on mine. So cut the virtue signalling bullshit, yeah? Us, we’re all the same. And like it or not, what you did is permanent. Those sins are staying on your back, pal. So you can either suck it up and move the fuck on, or you can continue to wallow in self pity until you’re fucking dead.” 

“Wrong.” Cross shook his head angrily. “We may have done the same thing, but at least I feel guilt.” Cross did what he did because he thought he could save everyone. How was he supposed to know that being a monster took away the ability to overwrite? His intentions were pure. But Killer? 

He did all of that on a whim. With no remorse or care. It doesn’t matter that Killer isn’t capable of feeling guilt, because what he did was awful and beyond forgiveness. Cross hates him so much. Who was he to lecture him? None of them had any right to comment on his behavior. Especially not before they looked at their own fucking problems. 

“Enough.” Horror says, voice firm and authoritative. Horror never adopted those kinds of tones, so hearing it from him causes everyone to pause. “Fighting…nothing. Does nothing. Stop.” 

Cross abruptly lost every ounce of energy he had in him to argue. 

“Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

“Cross-” Horror began, but Cross didn’t want to hear it. The skeleton turned on his heel and stormed off, bitterness and anger forcing him to continue onwards until the trees thinned out and Snowdin came into view. Nobody followed him. Nobody cared enough to see if he was okay, and Cross has long since accepted that as a fact. 

Nobody will ever come for him. 

Grillby’s here is just like the Grillby’s in Undertale. The patrons are the same and so is the atmosphere. Here, it’s easier to pretend that Chara isn’t close. Probably in town, if they’re supposed to be taking on the role of Classic Sans. However, the repetitiveness of this place pulls him into a safe sense of security. If he closes his eyes, he can convince himself that he’s in the Main Universe.

Everyone gives him a strange look when he walks in. With his hood pulled over his head and his turtleneck covering most of his face, he must have looked suspicious. Snowdin hardly ever got any new visitors, especially none that appeared as mysterious as he did. 

He sat up at the bar and ordered a chocolate shake like he always does. It’s a comfort drink and always made him feel a hell of a lot better. Next to him, a red bird eyed him curiously. “Hey bub, you look kind of familiar.” 

Cross frowned miserably. He wanted to be left alone. “I don’t know you. Sorry.” 

“Hey, Fish, don’t he seem kinda familiar to you?” The bird elbowed his ugly companion. The fish in question gave Cross a once over.

“Kinda like the king.” 

Hm. Maybe a hood and a face cover wasn’t quite enough to hold off any suspicion. Cross shrugged. “I get that a lot.” 

“Yeah? Say, I wonder. You look kinda down in the dumps. Me and my good friend here, we can make you feel a whole lot better.” 

The milkshake is placed down in front of him. Cross played with the straw for a moment, squishing it and rolling it between his phalanges. “What are you guys even talking about?” 

“Well! For a price, we got some high quality stuff. New guy like you coming in  _ has  _ to be for the stuff.” 

His interest had been caught. Stuff could only mean grass, and he hadn’t been able to smoke it since Gloria. Not that Cross had been actively looking. But, he liked being high so much that he certainly wouldn’t have protested to another round of smoking. The only problem is, well. Cross is a bit judgemental, and these guys were ugly as hell. He’d one hundred percent rather smoke with a busty, attractive bunny than these weirdos. 

“Spent the last of my coins on the milkshake.” He lied. “So...thanks but no thanks, my dudes.” 

They glanced at each other before looking back at him. “No problem. You can just pay us back later, yeah? It’ll be a treat.” 

Cross had a premonition that this was a trap. He watched enough crime movies with Frisk to know that usually, drugs don’t come for free. If they were outright offering it, then it could mean something bad. This vibe was completely different than the one with Gloria. However, Cross also had very little care for what happened to him. 

It’s not like anyone would miss him, if something were to theoretically go horribly wrong. He sipped on his shake for a moment before sighing. 

“Okay. Fine.”

It was his second and by far the worst mistake.

They took him behind Grillby’s, snickering and whispering to each other the entire time. Cross watched with a detached look about him. 

“So listen here.” The fish began. “You’re like our, uh…”

“Beta!”

“Yeah, yeah. Our beta, of sorts. Like a taste tester! See, we ain’t ever sold this around here. Gotta make sure our customers get good products, you feel me?” The fish gave his shoulder a pat and Cross tried his best not to cringe away from the unwelcomed touch. 

“You’re trying to give me dangerous stuff?” He asked with a raised brow bone

“Not really.” The red bird began to dig through his crossbody bag. “This is harder stuff. Expensive, too, but our connection in hotlands gave it to us for half off. We just wanna make sure, that’s all.” 

Bad idea. This is such a  _ bad  _ idea. “Alrighty then. Show me what you got.” He said with the confidence of someone who’d been doing drugs for years. 

What they had turned out to be a bag full of colorful powder. He stared at it with confusion. “...What is that?” 

“Crystal! You ain’t ever done it before?” 

Cross shook his head. The fish smiled. “Well, that’s even better. Birdie, you got a spoon in that bag?”

Birdie pulled out a spoon and handed it over to the fish. “Okay, now watch here. You put a bit of it onto a spoon.” He does as spoken, dipping the spoon into the bag. “And then what you wanna do is light up the bottom. Birdie, lighter.”

Birdie produced a lighter. He lit a flame and held it under the spoon. Surprisingly quick, the powder began to melt into a shiny liquid. 

“Then you put it in a syringe, Bir- oh, thank you.” He put the liquid in the syringe and held it out to Cross. “Gotta be careful with this stuff. Too much and it’ll overload your soul, which would then result in. Um. Dust.” 

It should scare him, but truthfully it didn’t. Cross had nothing left to lose. His family is dead, his friends are gone, and the people he lived with cared very little for him. 

“Where do I inject it?”

“Your arm. Or...wait. You’re a skeleton, ain’t you? Birdie how the hell is he supposed to inject it?” 

“Fuck if I know, Fish.”

Cross rolled his eyelights. “Simple.” He then rolls up his sleeve and summons part of his ecto. “See? Now what.” 

“That’s kinda neat! Anyways, here, tie this real tight at your elbow.” Birdie handed him a strip of cloth. “Belt works better to be honest, but it’ll do. See the way your vein pops out?” 

Cross nodded. 

“Good, stick it in there.” They gave him the syringe and with no hesitation, he slid the needle into his ecto. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting. A slow high, like the grass perhaps. All Cross knows is that one second, he’s blinking, and the next he’s  _ floating.  _ Where was he? Who was he? All he knew was the now, not the then and not the when. Cross forgot why he was ever sad. Why would he be, when life felt like this?

“Oh man, he looks like he’s in heaven.” Someone’s voice slipped through in the pleasant quietness of his head. 

“That’s because I am.” He sang. 

“Well, there don’t seem to be any negative effects so far.”

Negative...images of black and cyan flashed through his head. A skeleton with tentacles and the sickenly sweet stench of rotten apples. He seemed important to Cross. Important like another person, wrapped in black and always wearing a displeased frown. Why is it that everyone important to him wears black? 

Black is such a sad color. Dark and dull. All the happy people in his life wore bright colors. Like his brother, or Muffet, or Frisk. Bright colors for bright people. Why weren’t they important to him, like the ones in black? Why did he…

Why did he what? He forgot. 

“The sky is grey.” He told the voices. “Is it going to rain?”

“The sky is always grey, buddy. We live in a mountain.”

Did they? That information felt wrong, for some reason. “I thought we lived in a castle.”

One of them snorts. “Okay, come on. Let’s go rent you a room.” 

They started moving. And then his face is falling onto something soft and fluffy. “We’ll be back for you tomorrow.”

“If he’s still alive.”

“Awe, Birdie, don’t be so negative. This was a helpful experiment.” 

That word again. “Nightmare.” He said out loud, finally placing a name to that face. Nightmare...that’s kind of a stupid name. Cross laughed to himself a bit. Nightmare. Nightmare. Nightmare. The more he repeated it, the funnier it got. It reminded him of when Alphys got her first phone, and on her myspace page she gave herself the username  _ xXxQueen_of_NightmaresxXx _ . 

They were thirteen at the time. Cross liked ninja turtles and swords, and Alphys was going through a ‘I hate the world and nobody understands me’ phase. Cross had almost forgotten all about that. Papyrus thought Alphys was the coolest thing ever, so when he was old enough to have social media his first username was  _ SKELETON_KING_OF_DOOM95 _ . It was so dumb. Cross made fun of him until dad yelled at him for being mean. 

He wished he hadn't been such an asshole to his little brother back then. Memories past his childhood have gotten hazy for some reason, but all he knows is that he misses him like no other. That small little skeleton with crooked teeth and sparkling eyelights. Images past that are blurry, but Cross thinks he grew up to be cool and handsome. 

As bright as ever, too. Cross bets he didn’t wear black. 

“Sweet dreams to you too.” Someone snickered. His world stalls and fades to a soft darkness. A sleep deeper than he’d ever slept before. Dreamless and sweet. Cross wished he could stay there before, in that perfect bubble of nothingness. 

When he did inevitably wake up, it was to Killer roughly shaking his shoulder. The very last person he wanted to see. Cross hissed and rolled back over, pulling the sheets over his head. “Fuck off dude.” 

“Nightmare is looking for you. Why are you here?” 

“In my room?” He scoffed. “Am I not allowed to sleep anymore? I can’t do anything right with you.” 

Killer tilted his head. “...No. We’re still in Storyshift. Did you fall and hit your skull or something?” 

He blinked and threw the covers back. “Oh, fuck!”

This draws laughter from Killer. “How did you forget? You must’ve gone to Grillby’s. Dude, you can’t be getting drunk on the job. Nightmare would kill you if he found out.” 

Drunk. Something like that. “Right, yeah. Sorry. Let’s keep this between us?” 

Killer considers this for a moment before he shrugged and started walking out of the room. “Alrighty. You have to come up with a good excuse, though.”

Cross waited until after the door closed behind Killer to collapse back onto the bed with a groan. Great, Cross sucks at lying to Nightmare.

-

The third time it happens, he goes looking for it.

It only took three days for him to start missing that special sort of high. All it took was one use and Cross was hooked on it. Unfortunately for him, Nightmare doesn’t sense any spikes of negativity until well after Cross feels like he’s going to die. But begging to leave the castle would’ve been suspicious, and then it would lead to all sorts of uncomfortable questions. 

By the time they finally  _ do  _ leave, Cross shook them off as soon as he was able to and high tailed it to Grillby’s. Cross didn’t even bother asking what universe they traveled to. His only thoughts were centered around a baggie of powder. The ugly fish and the red bird are still there, chatting and gaffawing at dumb jokes. 

“Hey. Someone told me you had...stuff.” Cross breaks them out of their conversation. The two paused and looked at each other. 

“Woah. Word sure gets around fast, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it does. Do you have it or not? I’ve got the money, I’m willing to pay any price you want.” 

They both nod at the same time. 

50G later and he’s meeting heaven once again. 

-

The fourth time, it becomes a habit. 

-

By the twelfth time, he runs out of money. 

There was a popular saying, back on the surface. Desperate times cause for desperate measures. And if Cross weren’t desperate, he never would have resorted to something so...disgusting. But by the time he ran out of his saved allowance, he was far too gone to just simply drop his new past time. 

Today, he gets his fix from Underfell’s Doggo. 

It’s not his first time doing so, and probably won’t be his life. They frequent Underfell timelines often, after all. Doggo is the only monster in this particular verse that’s willing to make a trade. Instead of coins, Cross gives him his mouth. And if he wants some of the more high end stuff, he gives Doggo his cunt. 

So far, he’s tried dozens of different types of drugs. The one that he considers to be the best is the crystals. They turned out to be made out of the ceiling crystals that light up Waterfall, but unless you infuse them with a certain type of magic they’re useless. Nobody has taught him how to do that, because apparently if the secret got out it would lose people money. This was his last chance to get what he needed, and ever since he ran out of money he’s been selling himself. 

In some timelines, Doggo won’t do it. Like in the Main Universe. However, Burgerpants (who’s real name remains a mystery) is always willing to get his dick sucked in exchange for grass. And if you go to Underlust, their Grillby is known for accepting sexual favors in exchange for many different services. 

Cross really struggled with this decision at first. The Royal Guardsmen inside of him still peaked through at times, whispering in his ears about how disgraceful this was. Had Captain Undyne been made aware of this, if she were still alive, his badge would’ve been stripped and she would’ve thrown him in prison.

Even after all this time, he still wanted to make her proud. But you can’t make dead people feel anything. 

The first time he sucked a dick for drugs, he cried. The second time, he threw up. By the third time, he learned to close his eyes and pretend that he was somewhere else. At home in the castle. Sitting at the table with his family. Watching Papyrus play video games. Reading manga with Alphys. Going to ice cream with Frisk. Happy memories to block out the painful present before he managed to get his drugs. 

When he started giving his cunt away, it was a lot harder to pretend. So he thought about people, as opposed to memories. If he dwelled on their mannerisms, all of his attention would be away from the fact that his pussy was getting used like a toy. He’d think about things like the way Nightmare gets extra goopy when he’s upset, or how Horror hooks his fingers in his socket when he’s anxious. And then he’d think about the way Dust get’s a faraway look in his eyelights sometimes, like he’s talking to someone in his head. Killer is a lot harder to think about, because he doesn’t really have many tells. 

If he digs deep, he can recall a few instances where Killer’s sockets light up with eyelights. Cross never could figure out why they did that, and so he spent a lot of time pondering on the answer as some monster has his way with him. 

Doggo is always a lot nicer than most monsters, though. Even if he’s an Underfell monster. Sometimes, with him, he doesn’t have to pretend he’s somewhere else. He’ll actively participate, and the more he does that the more he finds sex to be another excellent distraction. He becomes addicted to the feeling of it. The drag of Doggo’s knot, the way his claws cut into the flesh of his ecto, the feeling of fur tickling his hips. 

Afterwards, Doggo will kiss him and hand him his goods. Cross will lean into the peck against his teeth before scampering off to find Nightmare. Doggo watches him go with a lazy smile, and like this it almost feels like something other than a trade for his next high. Cross doesn’t love Doggo, and Doggo doesn’t love Cross, but there’s a layer of fondness built up after months of on and off fucking. 

Nobody ever catches wind of what he does. Nobody cares if he wanders off for a little while, either. A part of him is a bit hurt over this. He wishes that they cared enough to follow him, to make sure he’s not doing anything stupid. It’s wistful thinking. Being off crystal for too long tends to make him like that. Sad and melancholic and clingy. He didn’t used to be this way, but it’s becoming a whole lot like Sans. Not being able to remember the before, changing into someone that he would’ve hated. 

Cross is always going through changes. Each one is worse than the last. That’s okay, though. Beforehand he didn’t have an outlet, and now all it takes is one injection and he can go back to the past and forget all of the bad things that ever happened to him. 

(Nevermind the fact that as of late, his memory has begun to fail him in the present. It’s getting harder to remember the days and the conversations he’s had. He’s starting to become a lot like Horror; stopping mid sentence to think about what he was going to say and staring blankly as words go through his head unregistered. 

But he doesn’t want to think about that. Cross is fine. He’s better than he’s been in a long time.)

“Well hello there, sweet thing.” Doggo greets him. Cross snaps out of his musings to realize that he’s standing in front of the guardsmen’s station. 

“Hey dude. How did you know it was me?” Cross asks, fighting down a smile. Doggo winks in his general direction. 

“Let’s call it puppy intuition. What can I do for you today?” 

“The usual. Can’t stay for long, so I’ll let you do whatever you want.” Nightmare warned him before he left the group that they were on a sensitive schedule, and that he needed to come back within an hour. 

He wishes Nightmare would’ve asked him where he was going. Cross might’ve responded honestly. Hell, he’d probably have been straightforward from the beginning, if anyone cared to fucking ask him how he was doing. Now it’s too late. None of them are blameless in his downfall. It didn’t matter how many obvious signs he showed, they’d all just turn a blind eye to his suffering. 

The only thing he was good for was killing and doing their bidding. Why  _ would  _ they care? 

“Sweet. I got some new stuff from the capital you might wanna try.” 

Cross slips behind his sentry station and presses against his side suggestively. This is another part of their routine. Doggo likes a bit of mindless teasing before they get to the main course. Whenever Cross plays along with his little game he always ends up with more drugs than he asked for. Which was perfect. Cross doesn’t mind acting a little bit. 

“Yeah, sounds good.” 

Doggo puts his hand on Cross’ summoned hip. He’s gotten into the habit of summoning his ecto before letting Doggo fuck him. It speeds up the process and gets them straight to the point. As great as Doggo is when it comes to this kind of stuff, it's undeniable that Cross would rather get the drugs as fast as possible. 

“Hey, can we do stuff with your tits?”

Cross visibly cringes, because Doggo can’t see and he can get away with making those kinds of expressions. His breasts are...sensitive. And for some reason, having them touched seems too intimate to be doing with one of his drug dealers. Regardless, he summons them and guides Doggo’s paw to one. 

“Of course. Anything for you.”

It scares Cross when he realizes just how much he means it. 

**Author's Note:**

> My twitter is @ snasational~


End file.
